


Unarmored

by dragonwriter24cmf



Category: NCIS
Genre: Character Study, Developing Friendships, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, Memory Loss, POV Ducky, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23110465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwriter24cmf/pseuds/dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: The relationship between Ducky and Gibbs, from Ducky's point of view.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Enigma Walking

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters belong to the creators of NCIS

**Chapter** **One:** **Enigma** **Walking**

He remembered when he first met Gibbs. His first day at NCIS, all those many years ago. He had his dead body, and the man came down to ask questions. He had to admit he was intrigued from the first. The clipped answers, the brusque questions, the restless energy. He wanted to know what caused all of them. He also wanted to know why a man who looked to be at least a decade his junior had grayer hair than he did. And darker, more haunted eyes.

Of course, in that fragile beginning, Gibbs had told him nothing. Only called him 'Dr. Mallard' with that dry, quiet tone, and snapped out questions impatiently. The sharpness stung, until he learned that the younger man was from a military background and had come straight from the Marines to NCIS. From the the front lines to the home front, as it were. The habits still stuck, showing in the straight back and the economy of word and movement. So he accepted it and did a little more talking, in a slightly easier fashion, and answered the questions he was asked. And every now and then, he asked one or two of his own, just to see if the ice would thaw. If he could get past the impenetrable armor around the man's heart, the steel wall that hid his emotions.

It took months. Over a year even. But then, gradually, Gibbs had begun to answer those questions. First with enigmatic one or two word responses. Then with whole sentences. And finally, with real, actual responses. He'd learned that Gibbs really disliked bombs, having had a few too many go off nearby when he was in the Marines. And that, for some reason, cases involving women and children disturbed the man more than anything else. He'd go after the dirtbags, as he called them, with the same intensity as a bloodhound after deer or rabbit. Why, he never said, but every now and then he would watch Gibbs and see the rare flash of empathy or pain in the eyes, and wonder. Not about the empathy, he knew the agent was a good man, but about what memories flashed through those crystalline deaths and darkened that face. What put the gray in that hair that had once been as dark as his own.

They'd been working together for just over a year when Gibbs had first called him Duck. He hadn't quite been able to believe his ears, that first time, and had looked up with a startled, “I beg your pardon?” Not that the reference hadn't been made before, hundreds of times since his first year of school, but he hadn't expected it from Gibbs.

Gibbs had looked at him with a small, sardonic grin. “Can't keep calling you Dr. Mallard. Too bloody long, too formal, and it sounds like something my dad used to hunt. And Donald makes you sound like a cartoon character.”

He hadn't been able to figure out what he wanted to say. Express startlement that the stoic, quiet man even knew what a cartoon character was. Maybe ask more about those hunting trips for mallard. Maybe point out that you weren't supposed to hunt mallard ducks. Maybe even point out that Dr. Mallard was far from the longest or hardest name he'd ever heard. But all he'd managed was, “I see.”

Once he got used to it, he even realized why it had startled him so. It was a sign of friendship, of relaxation. Something he'd seen Gibbs give no one else. It was the first, tiny chink in the man's armor. And, he had to admit, he did rather like the nickname, even if duck was a delicacy in some parts of the world. So Duck he remained, until Abby was hired and affectionately changed it to Ducky. He even began introducing himself to others as Ducky. Gibbs, of course, used both.

The nickname led him to another realization about the man. Gibbs came across as stern, and remote to most people. He had sarcasm down to an art form. But he also had a quick and vibrant sense of humor. It was dry, fitting for his personality, and as often directed at himself as anything else. But he seemed to find the quirks of humanity to be highly amusing, and, if one knew how to look for it, he was willing to share the joke. It was subtle, unless you knew him. A sparkle deep in his eyes, and a wry quirk of one corner of his mouth, upward. It came across as more sarcasm, unless you knew what to look for. But observing things was his job, and both he and Abby were quick to catch on to it. And both he and the young forensic scientist could tell the agent appreciated their efforts.

He'd waited to be sure that Gibbs meant the nickname to stick, and then began looking for an equivalent. There was no nickname, no play on names that really suited the sober, quiet individual, but if he was going to be 'Ducky' then he was not about to leave the other man at 'Special Agent Gibbs', 'Agent Gibbs' or even really at just 'Gibbs'. He'd wanted to show the man that the trust, the relaxation, was a two way street, that he did not need to fear the openness that was so slowly developing between them.

A quick reference to his file revealed his full name. Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The name didn't suit him, really, but why it didn't he couldn't say. Perhaps because he associated Leroy with quiet days on the farm, or western movies, in some strange way. He couldn't imagine the agent in either setting. So he'd settled on the second name, and waited. Then finally, Gibbs had come in with his usual 'What you got for me Duck?' and he'd been able to respond. “Ah, Jethro.”

Gibbs had stopped dead in the middle of the doorway. “Jethro?”

“It is your name, according to your file. And since we seem to be on a less than formal basis these days, I thought it would be preferable. Unless, of course, you really do prefer your first name, Leroy.”

Gibbs had made a face. “Hate it when people call me that.”

“Then Jethro it is. Unless, you have some name from your Marine days that you prefer.” 

Another head-shake. “Got called Gibbs, or gunny, there.” A shrug. “Gibbs is fine.”

“Perhaps, but I think I prefer Jethro.” He'd smiled. The conversation had ended there, and skated into his autopsy results, but the name had stayed, and Gibbs had let it. From that day, he'd been Jethro. And some time later, he'd realized that the younger man had begun using the name as his introduction. But, oddly enough, he never permitted anyone else to call him that, not by choice. One or two others, FBI Agent Fornell and much later, Director Jenny Shepard, used the name once in a very rare while, but it wasn't encouraged. The name remained Ducky's to use, but he was the only one to do so consistently. Even Abby, whom he was outspokenly fond of, called him Gibbs.

It had been the first signs of a long thaw. But gradually, Jethro Gibbs had spoken to him of other things. It began with thoughts about various cases. Gibbs would hit a snag, and wind up in autopsy, talking out his questions, his observations, and sometimes, his answers. And, every so often, his feelings. As the talks got longer, more of the emotion began to seep in, more of the man began peeking out from behind the mask. He was never very open, of course, it wasn't the type of man he was. But it was as if the armor that had once been solid plate armor had gradually been exchanged for chain mail. Still solid and defensive, but he could see through the rings to the strong, and sometimes wounded man beneath. He never probed too hard, not wanting to make the man shut down again, but he had seen enough to know there were scars under the mail, and that, for all his strength and ferocity, the man he called Jethro was remarkably compassionate, and...oddly vulnerable. He didn't know where the hole in the armor was, only that there was one. But that too, he didn't probe too closely. He knew the younger man would tell him, in time, or not.

The second break had come some time later. He'd gone to work early, to find Gibbs already there, already at his desk. But not working. Leaning on the desk, head cradled in his hands, in the dark. He'd found it odd, spoken his name, intending to ask if he'd stayed all night, if he needed some coffee, or just what was going on. But at the sound of his name, Gibbs had gasped. “Duck?” Then his head came up, and he saw the bruises and the blood on his face.

He couldn't remember clearly what he'd said. Only that, a few minutes later, they were in Autopsy, with Jethro sprawled on his table in the dimness. He'd have preferred more light, but it was very clear, even in the brief time it took to get that far, that the man had a rather definite concussion. Equally clear that he did not, under any circumstances, wish to go to the hospital. So Ducky had taken him down, stretched him out on the table and given him an examination. Under protest, of course. Gibbs didn't want to be there, and was clearly uncomfortable with his vulnerability. He'd cleaned, examined, and dressed the injured head, forced the man to down something for the obvious pain and dizziness, and used a whole host of gentle questions and seemingly unrelated stories to pry the truth out of his very determined friend.

Jethro had finally spoken of his unhappy marriage, and impending divorce. Why it was unhappy, he couldn't, or wouldn't, explain. Ducky had noticed then the rather biting sarcasm and harshness when he spoke about his wife, but it underneath was a note of self deprecation and hurt, and an odd puzzlement, as if there was something else going on. And he wasn't...unaffectionate. Simply honest about the fact that he didn't love the woman, and they no longer got along. But he hadn't asked. He had assumed that the head injury and unhappy home life were enough for the battered man, and had simply offered his silent support. He had walked with Gibbs that day, and the next few, aiding him through the questions, the recovery, and through the divorce. He thought it odd, how a man as unyielding and tough as Gibbs had let his wife nearly walk all over him, but that was Gibbs' decision. He didn't question. It wasn't what Jethro needed. Besides, he wanted, more than anything, for Jethro to know his vulnerability was safe. That the revelation of his weakness would not affect their friendship negatively, nor their professional relationship.

It had worked. Three nights after the divorce had been finalized (several after the woman in question had left) he'd been invited over to Gibbs' home. The first invitation he'd received since they began working together. It had been an interesting night. Gibbs cooked, and decently. He stocked beer, whiskey, bourbon, water and coffee, and had joined Ducky in a cup with the ease of a man who regularly drank some of everything he'd offered. He'd even led him down to the basement, to see the half-finished boat. There was something completely unsurprising about the fact that the man used hand tools instead of electric ones. And even novice as he was, he could see the love and care Jethro put into his project. He'd wondered what Gibbs used as therapy for tough cases, and the answer both surprised him and delighted him. The night had been spent in gentle drinking and in trading half stories and odd thoughts, while Jethro quietly worked. And when he'd finally gotten too tired to keep talking, Gibbs had ushered him upstairs and let him rest. He thought it odd that he'd found Gibbs sleeping under his boat the next morning, but then...he knew well the experience of dropping off in mid hobby, and chalked it up to that.

The next few years had passed in a slow, flowing time. Gibbs became senior agent and built his team. Anthony DiNozzo, and Abby Scuito, who loved the stoic, gruff individual as a father figure. Then later, much later, Agent Caitlin Todd. A bold, bright young woman. And after that, young Timothy McGee, and finally, Ziva David. And he remained, Gibbs' friend and oldest partner. And somehow, without even being truly aware of it, he became the man's confidant as well, his adviser, and the man he came to for problems beyond cases or the simple physical issues.

He wasn't precisely sure how it happened, or when. Probably there wasn't a specific date. He nursed Gibbs through the remnant of his divorce, and the next two disastrous relationships, and their aftermath. Gibbs came to him with both the physical and emotional injuries for both. He came to him for tough cases, and personal problems. And gradually, he realized that there were nights when Gibbs did most of the talking, when the younger man would pull away a section of the chain mail that protected his battered soul, and let him see the damage beneath. That some days, after a rough day, he would have Gibbs wind up in Autopsy, and they'd share a quiet drink, and he'd suddenly be talking to Jethro, the strength in his blue eyes replaced by pain, or confusion, or even anger. And they would sit together, there or in Jethro's house, and speak until the anguish ran dry, and the wound closed over. He never minded, not even when the man lashed out at him in anger or hurt.

He knew Jethro never meant it. And though the man had developed a rule about never apologizing outright, the eloquence of his words, the way his tone would go from angry to resigned to sad, and then to warm and oddly embarrassed, was apology enough. He never said “I'm sorry” but the body language said it well enough, and after a few times, Gibbs started bringing him silent apologies. A bottle of wine or whiskey to replace one they'd drunk. A new set of surgical tools, when one of his had broken. He'd come in one day to find the man meticulously cleaning and resharpening every scalpel and other bladed device in Autopsy. He'd never explained, but it had happened two days after he'd mentioned that his tools needed new edges, and that it frustrated him. And one day after a traumatic ending to a case involving a young navy man had left Gibbs in his office, ranting and frustrated for well over an hour.

It warmed him, that the younger man had taken him into his confidence. That he trusted him. He knew there were things Jethro still hid, particularly about his past, but it didn't matter all that much to him. There was time, after all, and any comfort Jethro would take from him was a blessing. He even thought, with time, he'd be able to reach the heart of the matter, possibly even seal over the wounds and scars that so plagued his friend.

Ari was a disruption of the rhythm they shared. It wasn't simply what he'd done, taking Ducky, Gerald and Kate hostage in Autopsy. It wasn't even the bullet he dug out of Jethro's shoulder after the maniac was gone. There was something there, from the beginning, a kind of wild, helpless anger that drove Gibbs in a way he'd never seen before. He tried to get Jethro to talk through it with him. He knew Jethro tried to tell him. But whatever emotion Ari had caused, whatever wound he had tapped and set to bleeding, even if it was only Gibbs' fanatic desire to protect his team, was too deep in his mind and heart for Ducky to entirely stop the wound. Too deep even for his friend to bring himself to pull aside the armor around him, and reveal the damage. Until Ari had pushed him to, and perhaps over, the edge.

If Ari's infiltration into the lab was a jolt, his cold blooded murder of Caitlin was worse. Jethro came to him for that, though they both knew he could offer only limited comfort. He'd let the man talk, getting the poison of what Ari had done out of his system. But the one moment that stood out, that startled him, had come just before Jethro left.

“He's torturing you.” The words had slipped out, and it was only as Jethro disappeared that he realized what he'd said. Not that Ari was trying to torture Gibbs, but that he was succeeding. With the knowledge came the realization that Ari had found the hole in the armor that surrounded the man, found the wound he protected even from his nearest and dearest friends, and was driving the knife in and salting the wound. And there was nothing he could do in the moment, because even though Jethro had brought his agonizing grief over Kate's death and his fear for his team to him, there was something else there that the man couldn't even begin to touch. He watched Jethro's eyes, and wondered if even Gibbs consciously knew what Ari had done and was doing to him.

Ari's death brought a measure of peace to both of them. But the next year was filled with a sense of something being...just a little bit off. The armor that he was so familiar with was mended, but the mending was far from perfect. He caught glimpses, throughout the year, of something wrong. Something terrible. More than once, he thought Jethro might tell him, but then the man would retreat into silence. It left him feeling vaguely uneasy, but he chalked it up to the fact that Ari had, after all, deliberately attempted to drive the man insane, and done a very good job of it. Of course, the wounds needed time to heal, and Jethro needed time to sort everything out. There was also the arrival of Jenny as the new Director, and Ziva's incorporation into the team. And then...the world exploded. Jethro's world exploded.

It was a shock, an almost painful one, to hear that Gibbs had been caught in an explosion. Even more so when he finally had a chance to visit his wounded friend. He'd seen Jethro vulnerable before, but never like that, never wounded and unconscious. He never thought he'd see the day when his stubborn friend had to be intubated. When Leroy Jethro Gibbs, of all people, would refuse to wake up. He wondered at the time, what could possibly be holding such a strong man back.


	2. Confrontation

If Jethro's wounds had shocked him, it was nothing compared to what he felt when Jethro woke. Woke with a muted scream, agony in his eyes, his body convulsing from torment that was entirely in the mind. It hurt that the man didn't know him, didn't recognize him. But as the first rush of hurt pride subsided he realized what really bothered him wasn't the lost memory. It was the lost armor. He was so used to dealing with a man who could protect himself, but Jethro's armor had been ripped away, leaving him vulnerable and mentally and emotionally bleeding, the wounds he'd fought so long to protect open and visible. And finally, though he wished he hadn't, he found the hole in the armor, the wound that was the source for all the pain Gibbs would never explain to him. His wife, his daughter, and their deaths.

That was a series of shocks all it's own. The revelation of a wife and daughter that Gibbs _never_ referred to. But what appalled him most, after that first shocked rush of empathy and pain, was the sheer anguish Gibbs had suffered. He couldn't, for the life of him, understand why the man hadn't caved under the force of it. And how, how in heavens name, had he missed all the tell-tale signs of loss, of hurt, of old grief? He'd had enough of them since Ari's arrival that he felt he ought to have guessed. Perhaps even before that.  


He was angry, of course, in an understated way, that Jethro had never confided in him, never told him, even after he'd helped him through three failed marriages. But...he had secrets of his own, and he'd been around long enough, known Jethro long enough, to know there were some things that simply couldn't be discussed. Besides...it embarrassed him that he hadn't guessed. That with all those glimpses underneath the guard, he hadn't put the pieces together. The shock of it had been so great he hadn't returned to the hospital. Much as he was worried for Jethro, he couldn't bear to see him as he was. He was desperately terrified that, with all his confusion and Jethro's, he would hurt him further.

It hadn't helped, the night Jenny had returned after speaking to him. Like her mentor, she'd developed the habit of coming to him with her troubles. Not surprising since he was Gibbs' confidant, as much as anyone could be, and most of her problems revolved around Gibbs. She'd gone straight to his special cabinet, poured herself a stiff drink, neat, then downed it and gone back for a refill. Only then had she told him what had happened. That she knew Gibbs remembered her, in a vague sort of way, from when they'd been lovers. He'd been embarrassed about it, at least. And then...she'd asked him a question about the Abu Sayev plot, and he'd lost it.

He had to admit, he was glad he hadn't witnessed it. Unfortunately, he had a very good imagination, and it wasn't hard to picture. Gibbs' frustration when he couldn't remember, frustration that escalated into helpless fury. And from fury, then into the wretched grief that truly _hurt_ him. Jenny spoke, and his mind supplied the images. Gibbs, seizing the front of her jacket, struggling against the nurses and doctors who were trying to hold him down and sedate him. Then the collapse into pain, falling into the bed as grief and agony overwhelmed him. Jenny's description of the moment was terse and trailed off, but he didn't need more detail. He could see it, Gibbs curled on his side, body locked in that position. The tears etching their way down his face as he clung to whatever was nearest and wept. Jenny had told him the words he'd spoken in a nearly dead monotone, pain in her eyes. _“_ _I_ _want_ _my_ _family._ _I_ _want_ _Shannon._ _I_ _want_ _Kelly._ _I_ _want_ _to...I...oh_ _god...I_ _miss_ _them._ _I_ _miss_ _them_ _so_ _much._ _”_ Tears streaking a countenance that had always been so strong, before Gibbs turned away to hide his torment and his shame, that anyone could see him like that. Before the medication sent him back to exhausted slumber.

He wanted, desperately, to make it right. To be there for his friend, and to soothe the hurt and the pain. He doubted anything would ever make it go away, but he wanted to talk him through it, as he had so many other problems. And when Ziva had called in, told them that his memory had returned, that he was coming back, he'd believed he had a chance to do just that. Even when Gibbs had broken in MTAC, and emerged to pass his gun and badge on to Tony, he'd thought he had a chance. After all, he had been asked to drive the man home.

He didn't get the chance. Gibbs disappeared to Mexico without a word to him. It hurt more then he'd expected. More than hurt, it made him angry, and he wasn't sure who he was angrier with. Gibbs, for not even saying goodbye? For walking away from their decades long friendship so easily? Himself, for not having realized what was going to happen, even though he'd seen the look in the other man's eyes? Or for the fact that he hadn't guessed sooner, what had hurt the man so? That in all their years of friendship, he'd never guessed at the loss Gibbs was hiding? Or perhaps he was simply angry at the fact that, after so many shared confidences, Gibbs turned to another to work through things, and he honestly didn't have a single defense to explain why Gibbs made the wrong choice. And though all of them knew the number they could call to reach him, he didn't pick up the phone. He felt like Gibbs had quit on them, given up on everything, including the friendship they shared.

He would never admit that the lingering sense of hurt was what drove him to study forensic psychology. Yes, it was useful in his chosen field. Yes, he enjoyed learning new things. But under that was the knowledge that he didn't want to get blind-sided like that again. And the faint, irrational hope that somewhere in there, he'd learn enough to understand how it had happened and find closure. He'd thought he might even succeed, and then Gibbs returned, brought back by Ziva's cry for help, and Fornell's demand for aid. Closure was suddenly no longer necessary, and he found himself wondering how they were going to right things. And admitting that he was still angry and hurt enough not to want to. Or at least, not to want to make it easy. He wanted an explanation, and an apology.

Gibbs, for his part, did nothing. He didn't offer an apology. He made friendly overtures, but let things lie when he was rebuffed. They got by in professional, icy, politeness.

Ziva finally ended it, drawing him aside to ask him when it was going to be enough. She wasn't critical, only gentle about reminding him that there had to be a stopping point. And Gibbs seemed dead set on waiting for him to make the first move. He knew from experience that, as temperamental as the man was, he could also be incredibly patient.

He chose to confront Gibbs in the darkness of the bullpen, because it was as close to neutral ground as they could find. He waited until the others went home, so there would be no witnesses should it end badly. But, as he approached, he found himself with nothing to say, for once. No way to lead into the conversation. He was used to using stories and analogies to work into the topic he needed to discuss, but he had no personal anecdotes for this sort of thing. Nor had he read anything, anywhere, that dealt with the confusing mass of hurt, betrayal and plain uncertainty that gripped him. The only thing he could even begin to think of was a rather odd analogy about marriage. And that, he knew, was wrong. But it was all he had.

Gibbs had saved him from that, at least. Cut him off in the middle of his roundabout apology for using marriage as an analogy. “Then don't. Just tell me what I did to piss you off so bad.”

He couldn't address what was really on his mind. Not at first. He settled for the lesser of the two evils that plagued him. “The night you retired...you asked me to drive you home. And you never said a word. Not one word.”

Gibbs looked at him with those solemn blue eyes. “I was kinda recovering from a coma, Doc.”

Out of context, it sounded like a rather pathetic excuse. But...it reminded him. Reminded him that Jethro had suffered through a terrible trauma, a sort of emotional torture that no one should endure. And he had undergone it and returned to NCIS, even in his shaky, barely functional state, to stop a terrorist plot. He also remembered how the military leaders had ignored Gibbs, and the bomb that had gone off, killing hundreds of Marines and Navy men, just so they could hide the fact they'd come so close to getting infiltrated by a terrorist group. It occurred to him, standing there in that darkened room, that the action had been a slap in the face. Cavalier, as if all the suffering Gibbs had undergone was worth nothing. And in a very real sense, it had been a betrayal. A deep, deep betrayal, and one he had taken while still vulnerable and reeling from the after-effects of his injury.

Perhaps it wasn't so surprising, nor so wrong that the man hadn't spoken to him that night. Drained, hurt and betrayed...perhaps he had done the best he could do. But that left the second, and much more painful accusation between them.

“And Shannon, and Kelly? Your wife and child. All those years, and you never mentioned that you have a family...”

Gibbs cut him off. “Had, Duck. I had a family.”

Six words. Barely a sentence and a half, technically speaking. And it said everything. In six words, Jethro laid aside his mask, and stripped away his own armor, and watched him through open, vulnerable eyes, unprotected.

The silence that fell between them allowed him to see, again, the pain in those eyes. In his anger, he had not quite remembered how much agony Jethro had truly suffered. The silence reminded him. Reminded him too, of what numerous psychology texts and several decades worth of living experience told him of the kind of pain such loss would produce. And the man sitting across from him had endured it, not once, but twice. He saw in those eyes the silent question. _What_ _do_ _you_ _want_ _to_ _know?_ And realized, rather shakily, that Gibbs was willing to touch those painful wounds again, was willing to let him touch them, if it would make him less angry and heal the breach between them.

Perhaps Gibbs misinterpreted the silence, or perhaps he knew all along what he'd originally wanted. He stood and came around the desk. “You know how I feel about apologies.”

“They are a sign of weakness.”

And the man surprised him again. “Not between friends. I'm sorry Duck. I should have told you, a long time ago.”

It was the apology and the acknowledgment he'd been wanting, but it suddenly seemed meaningless, weighed against the man's vulnerability, and the fact that he had both the trust and the love to reveal it. It shamed him and melted the ice, and the words that came to his tongue were a relief, a balm to both of them. “And there is something I should have told you, months ago. Welcome home, Jethro.”

That Gibbs took his hand was unsurprising. The embrace, and the whispered “Thanks Duck.” were unexpected, but worth everything to both of them. He had a feeling that Abby and Ziva would have been proud of them.

They fell back into their old patterns after that. He would have said nothing had happened but Gibbs was more...open, than he had been before. He watched the man put himself back together, and wasn't surprised that the armor didn't fit nearly as perfectly as it had before. He talked Jethro through it, and watched him compromise and find his own way through the tangles. In the main, he thought it was hardly noticeable, unless you knew him well. But his team noticed a new rough, uncertain kindness in him, and openness. And Fornell came by more often, no longer pretending to be antagonistic.


	3. Revealing Visits

He watched Jethro through the whole dance and relationship with Colonel Mann. The relationship itself was a good sign, in his mind. The Colonel and Jethro had much in common, and her outspoken personality and nature dragged him out of the darkness and back into the world. She was a good woman, and good for him. Even so, he was aware that the relationship was part of Gibbs' attempt to find his feet again. He was equally aware that Gibbs had not explained his mental and emotional situation to the woman, and he knew why. Jethro didn't want to bring the baggage into the relationship. He also knew the Colonel was impatient, not understanding the slowness with which Gibbs moved, the awkwardness. He did his best to help, but he wasn't entirely surprised when the truth came to light, and the Colonel disappeared from their lives as fast as she'd appeared.

He'd talked his friend through that. Gibbs had been disappointed, and a little sad, but not devastated. Certainly not overly upset. They'd discussed it a little, then Gibbs had moved on, and he'd stood there, wondering what it would take to heal the man. He knew the death of Agent Paula Cassidy didn't help. Neither did dealing with Tony's heartbreak over the Jeane Beniout affair, nor handling Jenny's obsession with La Grenouille. He knew it was difficult for his friend, if the amount of time they spent sipping whiskey in Autopsy or his basement was any indication. He wished he could fix the problem, but had no idea how.

Until Gibbs' death did that. Or near death, as the case might be.

The appearance of Maddie Tyler in NCIS had surprised them. Even more so when Gibbs took her under his wing and into his protection. Then Abby found the answer in Maddy's online profile. Kelly's friend. He had just enough time to wonder what wounds that was going to open, and how badly, when they got absorbed into the case. He tried to warn Jethro about the dangers of seeing Kelly's face in Maddie's, but they both knew it couldn't be helped. He resigned himself to waiting, and praying there would still be pieces to pick up in the end. Whether it was pieces of Jethro's battered emotions, or pieces of the men who'd attacked Maddie, he wasn't quite sure. Then the call came, and the news that Gibbs and Maddie both had been trapped in a car that had gone into the water.

He wasn't first on scene. That was reserved for McGee and Ziva, and an actual ambulance from the hospital. They checked Tony, Gibbs and Maddie, hauled them all off for observation. Gibbs and the young girl were released relatively quickly. Tony, due to his run-in with the plague years before, stayed longer. He visited the young man in the hospital room. He was glad to hear the agent felt fine, but he could see something bothered the young man, and he finally convinced Tony to tell him. The answer was a shock.

“I don't know what happened, Duck. Gibbs shoved the girl at me, I took her up, went back for him. He wasn't breathing. I think he got stuck, trapped by the wheel.”

He nodded encouragingly. “But you got him out, and you revived him, Anthony.”

“I got him out, yeah. But...Duck, he was non-responsive as they come. I gave him CPR, but it wasn't taking, and I had to try and save the girl....”

“Miss Tyler. Of course. Jethro would be angry if you had sacrificed her life for his.” He didn't blame Tony, even if the thought of Jethro lying there motionless and without life did put a chill in his heart.

“Yeah. Thing is...I got her to start breathing again, turned around and...he just came back on his own. One minute he was completely still, the next he just sorta choked, coughed, and was back with me. Don't know how it happened, cause I wasn't touching him.” Tony shivered. “It was actually kinda eerie.”

“Well, perhaps it was simply a delayed reaction. After all, our Gibbs is a rather stubborn and strange individual.” He tossed the comment off lightly, to make the young man feel better, but he was curious.

Somehow, it didn't surprise him when he found himself outside the Gibbs home, and wandering down to check on his friend. Gibbs greeted him, and it was no surprise that he'd already broken out the bourbon. “Hey Duck.”

“Hello Jethro. I thought I might check on you, after your close call this afternoon. I trust young Miss Tyler is all right?”

“Yeah. She's okay.” Gibbs handed him a glass jar for the drink.

“And you? Young Anthony says you had a rather close call.” He kept his tone light, gentle, inviting confidence rather than insisting on it.

“Yeah.” Gibbs took a drink, and sat in silence. He was about ready to make his excuses and leave for the evening when the man looked at him, and he realized why he'd been silent. The defenses were gone again. Then Jethro looked away and spoke into the darkness. “You ever hear any stories Duck? All those rumors about the bright lights and seeing dead people when you die?”

He couldn't think where that question came from, but he answered it anyway. “Of course. Every doctor does, and an ME especially.”

“You believe 'em?”

“I try to keep an open mind. Of course, I've never had the experience, nor seen it occur. And I'm afraid none of my guests ever returns to tell me what they saw or felt, if anything.” For a moment, he didn't understand where the question was coming from, or why. Then it hit him. “Jethro...you...”

“Felt like it.” Another sip of the bourbon.

“But...what...” The answer to that question hit seconds later, leaving him staring in shocked silence for a good minute. “Jethro...you...saw...Shannon and Kelly?” Hallucination, dream or reality, he didn't know, couldn't even begin to guess, but he felt his stomach flip.

“ Yeah. ”

Pity and sorrow flooded through him. “Oh, Jethro...” He couldn't find words to express what he wanted to say, not that Gibbs would listen to, at any rate.

The blue eyes met his, and then Jethro shook his head slightly. “It's not like you think, Duck.”

“Can you talk about it?” He settled back against the bench, prepared to wait all night if that was what was needed. He was glad for the drink in his hand.

“Yeah.” There was a pause, and the words came slowly. That was no surprise. “I could see 'em, Duck...like I can see you now. And I could hear them. I just...I couldn't touch them. I tried, but...I just couldn't.”

There was pain in that statement, and he was hardly surprised to see a tear slipping slowly down the angular face. Jethro didn't appear to notice it. Certainly, he made no move to wipe it away, or turn away so it was hidden from sight.

He waited, but the words seemed to have stopped. He was half-tempted to let it lie, but he knew there was more to the story. “You said you heard them. They spoke to you then?” He still didn't know if it was a dream or hallucination. He wasn't going to treat it as anything other than real, however. Gibbs was many things, but he'd never considered him a lunatic, and he wasn't going to start now.

“Yeah.” Gibbs took another swallow of bourbon, his eyes a million miles away. “Shannon...she said she loved me. So did Kelly.” There was just the faintest hitch in the well controlled breathing, and another tear was sliding down the other cheek. “And then...they told me it would be okay, that everything was all right. I felt like I was being pulled away. And Shannon, she blew me a kiss. They were smiling. And Kelly...she was telling me goodbye. Telling me to take care. Then everything went black again.” Another silence, one he didn't have the heart to break. Then... “They were smiling, Duck.”

That at least, he could answer. “I am not surprised.” The blue eyes came sharply to meet his, and he held that shocked gaze with his own solemn one. “If their feelings for you mirror your feelings for them, Jethro, then any reunion, however brief and however it came about, must have brought them such joy.” he saw the faintest beginnings of startled acknowledgment to that, and continued. “More than that, I believe that Shannon and Kelly, wherever they are, would be proud to have been a part of your life.” He rose, moving slowly to where the other man sat, bourbon glass almost forgotten in his hand. The bright blue eyes were staring at him with pain, love, cautious hope and understanding. He stopped when he was close enough to feel the warmth of his companion's breath, and looked into those eyes once more. “You are a good man, Jethro. I know you think frequently on the mistakes you have made, and the things you regret, but...that is a part of who you are. And you have done much good, as well. Many lives you touch are made better for it.”

Jethro swallowed. “Not always so sure about that.”

“If you were not sure that what you are doing is right, I do not think you would manage to keep doing it. But if you doubt, you have only to walk into NCIS. And there, I assure you, you will find a whole team of people who believe you have given them a great deal.” He reached out to lay a tentative hand on the lean shoulder of the man in front of him. “Myself included.” He knew that Gibbs considered that an office relationship, different from others, and tightened his grip gently. “And if memory serves, just today you encountered a young woman who values you just as much, so deeply she remembered you after fifteen years of absence, and sought you out. Because she trusted and valued you. That is not a thing to be taken lightly, Jethro.”

Jethro looked up at him from where he sat. He didn't speak, but his cheeks were wet. With a start, he realized that his companion was not unaware of the tears he cried. He was simply not ashamed, this time, to have them seen. To let him see them. Then soft words came from Jethro's mouth. “They sent me back, you know.”

“Probably because they knew you were needed.” He settled beside his friend. “I cannot pretend to guess what the future holds, but...I can say you are very much loved, admired, and valued. And that, for all of young Anthony's competence and skill, you are needed by your team. If that were not true, Ziva would not have called you that day. And despite his strengths, I think even Anthony requires your support and guidance at times. Surely, if you did see Shannon and Kelly, then they are aware of that.”

Jethro made no reply, just stared into the dimly lit basement before him. He was about to leave, leave the man to his privacy and his emotions, when he spoke. “Thanks, Duck.”

“You're welcome.” he wasn't sure what he was being thanked for, but the polite response was too ingrained. He sat for a while longer, sipping bourbon with his silent companion, until the tears dried and some of the turmoil left the shadowed blue gaze. Then he rose, looking down at the beginnings of Jethro's latest project. “You've finished your boat. Something new, I take it?”

“Might be.” There wasn't much done yet on the wood. “Still working it out.”

“Then I will leave you to it.” His eyes fell on a small, dirt-covered pink lunchbox as he turned. But he didn't ask. That, he would leave to Jethro. Instead, he offered him a nod and turned away, back up the darkened stairs. He was half-tempted to stay, half-tempted to ask if Jethro wanted to come with him for the night, but he refrained. There was simply too much on the man's mind, and there was no more he could say about the situation. So he set the glass down softly, and left.


	4. Open

They never spoke of that late night confidence again. The next time he saw Jethro at work, there was no trace of the hesitation, or the pain. Only the usual Gibbs. It was almost easier to believe nothing had happened, than the injury had been just another run-of-the-mill, on-the-job injury for the man. But...he did start to notice, as the days passed, that something had changed in the man.

He wasn't sure how to characterize it, only that he had a sense that his friend was...opening up, relaxing, in a way he couldn't define. Reaching out to his team, and to the people around him. He would have liked to analyze it further, but circumstances intervened.

He dealt with Jethro's grief and fury through Jenny's death, and the break-up of his team. Both events hurt, he could tell, and the fact that they occurred within two weeks of each other was worse than painful. He almost regretted telling Jethro that Jenny had been terminally ill when she went to face the guns. He saw the pain it caused, but...he'd known his friend would also be angry that she hadn't confided in him. That she'd chosen the path that she had. He also knew the man would blame himself for the whole thing if he hadn't known, and deemed the knowledge to be the lesser of two evils. He couldn't condemn Jethro when the younger man went on the warpath, and he and Franks went after Jenny's killer. Not even when Jethro burned the house to hide the evidence of what had truly happened. He understood it, and was content simply to stand by and support the man afterward, when his tangled emotions brought him down to Autopsy, to drink and talk, or not talk, some nights.

The break-up of the team was harder. Harder to deal with, harder to work through. It grated on both of them, how Vance had simply reassigned everyone, left Jethro with a completely new crew of youngsters who had no idea what he did, why he did things the way he did, or how he thought. Three people who had absolutely no idea about the man behind the mask, and no concept of who he was. It would have been bad enough, before everything that had happened. He alternated between wanting to tell his friend to give his new team a chance, and wanting to head-slap them himself, and he had far more patience than Jethro did.

The next four months were difficult ones. They were hard on Abby, and on him, but worst for Jethro. Discovering that he was supposed to sniff out a traitor among the people he worked with and felt he was supposed to protect, that gave his friend fits. He knew why. Jethro depended on his people. He'd watched their backs, and relied on them to stay with him. There was, within his team, a feeling of utter trust and loyalty. They had supported each other, understood each other. That was how he had always worked.

The fact that Vance had deliberately assigned him a team where one of them was out to betray him, that made him crazy. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why Jethro didn't shoot the man himself. The only reason he had was that Gibbs was, mostly, an honorable man, and too sensible to end his career by shooting his boss. Nevertheless, he was glad when the team returned, and gratified to see Gibbs relax as well. Gratified to see his guard drop, ever so slightly, once more. He even, surprisingly, relaxed around the Director. It startled him, but then, a great deal of what Gibbs was doing startled him, over those next few months.

He watched Jethro restart his relationship with his father. It was rocky at first, and he could tell the other man was struggling somewhat, but he could also see the relief it brought. He marveled when Gibbs actually accepted his Thanksgiving invitation. He usually didn't. And over the months, and the following year or two, he was pleased to hear that the relationship with the elder Gibbs slowly went from rocky to comfortable. True, they did sometimes have a hard time communicating, but it was to be expected between two such strong personalities.

The revelation of Michelle Lee as an actual traitor hit the man hard. He knew Gibbs had come to care for the young woman. Even knowing she was a traitor, and had used his trust, made it no easier. The fact that she had done it all to protect her younger sibling/daughter made it far worse for the NCIS team. He waited for the news, and was there with a bottle of brandy and a listening ear when his friend came in nursing a shattered finger and a new scar ripped through the armor of his soul. It took half a bottle to calm the man. But...something else changed. The next day, Ziva came down and told him how Michelle's younger sibling had asked after 'Michy' as she called her. And that it was Gibbs, not anyone else, who took the child aside, told her the truth, and comforted her.

It didn't surprise him, on one level. Jethro was good with children as he never was with adults. And, of course, he took responsibility for Michelle's death. It wasn't odd, that he should comfort a child and try to explain things. What surprised him was that, that night, Gibbs didn't show up needing a stiff drink. Of course, it was possible that he drank in silence, next to his woodworking project. But...there was still something about Jethro's actions that made the psychologist, and the friend inside him, curious.

Then the Christmas incident. A man who was supposed to be dead reappeared, tracked down. After the case was solved, the team watched 'It's A Wonderful Life' at Tony's suggestion. Gibbs didn't show. After the movie, he went by the house, and wandered down to the basement. Gibbs was there, working on a small piece of wood. He settled nearby. “You missed an excellent movie, Jethro.”

“I've seen it.” His hand ran over the slim length of wood he held. “Had something to do.”

“So Ziva said. I'm simply curious. After all, lately you have been far more willing to spend time with your team. And yet it is Christmas Eve, and you leave.”

Jethro nodded. “I'll make it up to them.”

“I doubt they expect that. I simply wonder...what was so urgent? Surely it was not so you could sit here, in your basement, and drink bourbon alone.” He gestured.

“Nope.” Jethro hesitated a moment, then looked up. “Thinking of framing this.” He picked up a rolled piece of paper, handed it across.

The paper proved to be a very skillful drawing of the team, the framework a book with ivy and holly in the corners. “It's very well done. Someone put a great deal of care into this drawing.” he studied it. “Our guest, earlier today?”

“Yep. Gave it to me when I dropped him off.” Jethro nodded.

“I see. So you were occupied in giving our visitor a ride. But tell me, where exactly did you take him? I thought the man had no home.”

“Not quite true.” Gibbs reached for the cup beside him and took a long slow sip, then swallowed. “Took him to his daughter's house.” he took another drink. “Last I saw, he was holding his grand-kid. Looked good.”

He was surprised. “I was under the impression, from what Abigail said, that he had no desire to see his family.”

“Yeah.” His companion took another sip. “Changed his mind.”

“I have a feeling you helped that process along. But...I'm curious. In a man so adamant that he has not seen his child in two decades, how on earth did you manage to convince him to get out of your car, much less into the house?”

“Told him my Christmas wish.” There was a flash of pain in Jethro's eyes at that.

“Your Christmas wish...Jethro, you've never told anyone anything that you wanted for Christmas.” He gestured around the basement.

“Nope. Can't have it.” Blue eyes met his. “Told him, if I had one wish, it would be to hug my daughter on Christmas Eve.”

The breath left his lungs in a rush. “Jethro...”

“It's okay, Duck.” It wasn't, and he could see it. But then Jethro turned away. “Called my dad though, wished him a Merry Christmas.”

“That's good.” Their talk drifted to other channels. But just before he left, he stopped. “You know, Jethro, it is true that you cannot hug your daughter for Christmas. However, on an entirely different note, I believe young Miss Scuito will take it very much amiss if she does not receive a Christmas hug from you, among many others.” There was a smile on his face, and an answering one appeared on Jethro's.

“Thanks, Duck. I'll be sure to give her one.” he looked down at the wood he'd been idly working on all evening. “Probably when I show her the picture.”

“An excellent suggestion.” he smiled again, wished Jethro a Merry Christmas, then went home. It wasn't until he poured himself a cup of tea, in his own house, that he thought about the unusual and extraordinary kindness that had prompted the gesture. Jethro was fully capable of such kindness, but...to bare his own heart to a near stranger, to give the man a chance...that was new.

Two days later he witnessed Jethro displaying the picture, in it's new frame, and giving Abby her hug. Somehow, he wasn't startled to see Gibbs give Tony an affectionate slap, McGee a rough pat on the shoulder, and Ziva a quick, one-armed embrace.

Less than two months later, he got to experience firsthand the touch of Jethro's warmth and empathy. When the sister of a man he'd let die sought her vengeance, and the nightmares of his past in Afghanistan came back to haunt him. He would have given up, drowned in despair, and turned himself over to die at the hands of the authorities. But Jethro wasn't about to let him do it. It was Jethro who hunted out the truth, defended him every step of the way, even against his wishes. Jethro who finally found the man responsible for all his torment, and arranged the face to face confrontation. It hurt, realizing that the boy's death had been meaningless, hurt to know he was the target, that a young man had suffered needless agony simply to break him. It left him with acid in his mind and heart.

That night, he sat in Autopsy and wept while his longtime friend, Dr. Jordan Hampton, held his shoulders. But when she went home, Jethro was there, silent as a shadow. It was Jethro who took him home that night, helped him around the house and sat with him as the pain returned. He wept again, and the tall, silent figure pulled him into a gentle embrace and said nothing about the tears that soaked his shoulder. Afterward, he had a cool cloth to wipe his face, a cup of hot soothing tea, and a couple pain-killers for his hand. He took them, then looked up. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem, Duck.” The other man settled into a nearby chair and relaxed, looking as if he was prepared to sit there all night. He was clearly waiting.

He watched his old friend and, though he didn't mean to say it, the words slipped out. “Why, Jethro? Why go to all this trouble? I told you, I was willing to surrender. Why?”

“You're a friend. You're a part of my team. And you didn't deserve it, Duck.” Soft, gentle words.

“Jethro, I killed a man. You know that.”

“You aren't the only one. Besides, if what I heard was true, kid was already dying. You just gave him an easier way out. Not easier for you, though.” Blue eyes met his, and there was no condemnation.

“That boy died because of me!” He barely missed breaking the teacup on the table. “Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

Pain flared, but the anger he expected wasn't there. “I know, Duck.” He looked away, the shadows hiding his expression, whether it was pain, anger or exasperation. “I heard the guy. Kid was collateral damage, to break you. And yeah, I know what it feels like. That's why Kate died, for me, remember?”

The memory, and the knowledge, brought him up short, but could not erase his anger at himself. “You didn't pull the trigger that killed her.”

“No. But I was her boss. I was supposed to protect her, not the other way around. And the only reason she died, was to hurt me. I was there, on that rooftop, an easy target. You know that. But Ari shot at her. You said it yourself Duck. He did it to torture me. Like that guy did to you.” Blue eyes came back to him, gentle and regretful, with pain in them, but also kindness.

“It isn't the same.” Not what he meant to say. He didn't want Jethro to keep prodding at the old wound for his sake, risking more grief to comfort him.

“No. It's never the same, Duck. But...doesn't mean I don't know how it feels.” That same, steady gaze held him against the shadows of memory. “And I've killed a fair share of people in my time, Duck. Including some who didn't deserve it.”

Which reminded him of the Michelle Lee incident, only a few months ago. “You couldn't have saved her....and surely it was kinder than what awaited her.”

“Maybe. You gonna take your own advice about that?” They sat in silence for a long few moments while he pondered that statement, then Jethro rose slowly from his chair, and came over to put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Some things stay with you, Duck. If they didn't, you wouldn't be the same guy, not as good. But...that doesn't mean you let them eat you alive. It's over.” There was a careful squeeze on his shoulder and several moments of silence. “You gonna be okay, now?”

He couldn't answer that, not right then. “I'm not sure.”

“Take a few days. Come talk to me some more if you need to. Let us know when you're ready, okay?” There was another light pressure on his shoulder, then Jethro refilled his cup, this time with something considerably stronger than tea, and left him to rest.

He didn't drink the alcohol, knowing that mixing it and pain-killers was a bad idea. But he did think over the man's words, that night, and he knew Jethro was correct. He found it ironic. He was usually the voice of reason. He knew Jethro had borrowed his own words, but...he'd never before heard of Jethro, of all people, being the counselor. He knew all the younger agents looked up to him, but still. It was something to think about, and the mystery of what had changed, and was changing, about his friend served to derail his mind from the down spiral of grief, guilt, and depression.

He watched Jethro with his team when Ziva returned to Israel, and when they rescued her from the hands of terrorists. Watched him with Ziva as the young woman struggled to recover from the horrors of what had happened. Watched as Gibbs became surrogate father to a frightened, broken young woman. He spoke with Ziva, helped her as best he could, but he was well aware it was Gibbs that finally put her back together, and that, as she struggled through the process of settling and re-adapting, it was his old friend's example she followed. The realization made him look at the others of the team, and he realized then that Ziva wasn't the only one. He would have said something, but surprisingly, Jethro seemed to already know. He took up the challenge as carefully and easily as he approached any new case, but there was no sign of regret or hesitation.

Later, much later, he watched the team rally around their leader when the Reynosa cartel came after him, hunting him and trying to smear his name, trying to destroy his reputation and his life. It amused him that even the lawyer, Miss Hart, came to his side.

He watched as the team suffered through the Port-to-Port Killer, and aided his friend through the death of Mike Franks, the man he had loved as a mentor. And watching, he understood what it was that had changed about Gibbs.

The armor was gone. Not reduced, but removed entirely. Oh, Gibbs was never unguarded. There were days when he could be as cagey as ever, when he avoided things, ducked questions, and stonewalled anyone who tried to get close to him. Days when he was gruff, and harsh. But...the high walls that had once separated him from his team had vanished, leaving him open. The armor that locked him away, shielded his emotions, had faded. And he even understood why.

Losing his family had been what erected those walls. He'd built the armor to defend himself from the pain. But now...he could see it in Gibbs' eyes, in the way he moved and spoke. Jethro had claimed his team as his family, allowed them to finally fill in the cracks of his heart, and heal, as much as could be done, the wounds on his soul.

Of course, they would never truly replace Shannon and Kelly. He knew Jethro. There would always be a hole in his heart where his wife and daughter had been. He would always, in some way, love them, mourn them, and long for them. But...Gibbs had a big heart, and a strong one. Perhaps his team would never completely fill the void, but they had created a new space for themselves in the man's soul, and, in some odd, haphazard way, they eased the ache, covered the scars with balm. Or, as Tony might say it 'cover the hole in the wall with a little bit of plaster boss, that spackling stuff, and it's almost good as new'.

His team, his friends, the people he worked with and loved, they had become his reason for fighting, and his protection against the dark. It was all very simple really. Surrounded by his friends and the agents he had claimed as his surrogate children, Jethro had no need for armor.

He smiled, and contemplated the possibility of another night of tea and bourbon in the basement. He wondered what Jethro would say if he brought up the subject, and found himself chuckling.

Of course...Jethro probably had some very logical, non-emotional reason for it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...I just got inspired by this idea one day. I'd done short little one-shots with a lot of the team, but Ducky wanted something longer. So...  
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed.


End file.
